Shock therapy
by pettcycola
Summary: As a therapist, doctor Neith Hargreeves gave up on her family a long time ago for her own good. Now, thirteen years later, a death in the family could be the opportunity she longed to finally patch things up— that is, of course, if they cooperate this time.


**Disclaimer:** _"The Umbrella Academy"_ and its characters are owned by Gerard Way, Gabriel Bá and Netflix; not me. I only own this story and the characters I created for it, which are meant entirely as a way to entertain me and others.

Also, I'd like to give credit to my dear friend **Esteicy**, which helped me with the creation of this story and being the co-creator of Neith. She deserves the world and much, much more than she gets on. Go follow her on tumblr (esteicy-blog)!

**TRIGGER WARNING:** The Umbrella Academy deals with very heavy themes, such as abuse, trauma, murder, and self-destructive behaviours i.e. drug addiction. This particular story will deal with these self destructive behaviours in detailed ways, and I don't mean to romantize them nor encourage them. If such content makes you unconfortable, I advice you to do what's best for you and turn back. **Reader discretion is adviced.**

That being settled...

* * *

**SHOCK THERAPY**

PROLOGUE

* * *

**shock ther·a·py**

_noun_

Sudden and drastic measures taken to solve an intractable problem.

* * *

It was an awfully heated day in Philadelphia, and so, doctor Hargreeves couldn't help but to look forward for her shift– if only to bask in the cold pleasure of her air conditioned apartment. But as much as she looked into the clock, it wouldn't go any faster, that was someone else's power.

She could still feel it, the fresh, burning itch on her right hip whenever she slightly wriggled and the fabric brushed ever oh-so-lightly on her skin. Sometimes, when nobody would enter or even peek inside her office, she would go and lift the hem of her sweater just to see it. It was a deep one this time, not as much as she hoped, but if made too hasty then it could be more… Troublesome, then. Making them while at work was big enough of a risk, but this week had proved to be especially tiresome– she deserved a little _break_, didn't she?

But Dr. Neith Hargreeves could hardly give it more attention than it should, for there was a knock on her door indicating somebody would enter, yet never the one she would hope for. Still, knowing she could bring even the slightest bit of support to someone was a little relief for her, and so she built her best smile as she raised from her chair and held her head high, already knowing what she would have to say.

"Welcome, I'm doctor Hargreeves," she said to the client of the day, a young girl of eighteen years old, way more skinny than what was deemed healthy, as she tightly shook hands with her. "What can I do today for you?"

It had been nearly three years since Neith had started working at the support center for abuse victims in Philadelphia, nearly three years of already knowing that line and nearly three years of being called Doctor Hargreeves with only once in a while having the commentary of _'you have the last name of that millionaire guy, are you related?'_– most of the time, Neith could brush it off as just as a coincidence before starting the session. This time, thankfully, the girl was too troubled to find the connection, and luckily for the youngster, Neith was eager to start the session; if only to have a way to kill time.

The girl, Moira, came because of issues with her family life: an absentee mother and a abusive father father, and yet, Neith couldn't help but tense when Moira asked the deadly question.

"You have any siblings, doc?"

Of course, Moira wasn't asking with any malicious intent, even if she didn't knew that it was unprofessional to seek a deeper connection with a therapist, the girl searched for some empathy– not to push the wrong button within Neith. But a sting rushed through all of her body and her eyes looked into the nothingness for a second, her mouth drying as she suddenly realized she was thirsty.

"I–I have," she was even more dumbfounded by the fact a _'No' _almost slipped from her lips. Neith's attention, which a few seconds ago was equally divided into Moira's frame and her notebook was now given entirely to her notations on the girl. "Of course, they must be busy now, I mean– why the curiosity, Moira?"

And Neith hadn't meant to sound defensive, this wouldn't be the first time someone would brought the siblings' theme into the table, but on that moment of her life… Well, Neith liked to believe she was as human as her patients. Was this unprofessional? Of course, and Moira's ashamed stare said that much.

"It's just… My sister, she could take care of me or even talk to my parents, because of fucking course they like her that much– she's their favorite, you know? I'm sure she could solve this entire problem if she wanted, but she doesn't," Neith resisted the urge to try and reach the girl with her hand, right now Moira didn't need what could be seen as pity, she needed solutions; even if Neith herself could feel her situation from experience. "And I don't know, doctor– did you ever felt like you're the _only one_ that actually wants to fix things?"

"I–I'm sorry, Moira, but from my personal point of view, I'm afraid my answer is a no."

And as unethical as it was, for the sake of a patient, a therapist _sometimes_ had to lie.

Whenever one of her patients would left the room, doctor Hargreeves would smile with fondness and bid them farewell, either hoping to see them next week or wishing that their session had at least eased their troubles a bit. But today's session with Moira had left her with an uneasy feeling on the pit of her stomach, and as Moira turned to the door, she pursed her lips before building the weakest smile she had in a long time.

"Take care, Moira." but it was not Moira the one that left the office with a grim expression, but Neith herself as she crumbled tired on her seat, feeling her muscles all tensed up.

There was a reason (well, _many_, but those were details) why Neith could get so riled up whenever her _own _family was brought into the table, and why, in more than ten years, she hadn't spoken to most of them. And not only because her own sister had exposed their personal lives behind a domino's mask on a book, no. That was the same reason why, even after what happened eight years ago, she stared into the screen on her phone waiting for a message.

That night, when she unlocked the phone, there was no new messages. Not from him at least.

And Neith sighed, now knowing if what she felt on her insides was either sadness, anger or a mixture of both. Only that the burn on her hip wasn't enough.

Whenever Neith came into her apartment, her hand would itch with the need to either check on her phone or either turn it off forever; to forget about non existing new messages, of everyone and actually have a night without the tremblings and a heart racing. Sometimes she even thought of breaking her phone into pieces only to put it back together, she was good at such things– or so she liked to think.

But when Neith Hargreeves came home that night, she only put the phone to charge thinking about what would happen if he answered or even called and she couldn't answer. Maddening, knowing that after, what? Almost a year? He hadn't even bothered to text something besides a simple _**'Don't worry'**_.

Surely, he had a lovable way to show it.

And today would be a year since the last time Neith knew anything about him. Back then, they only texted because Neith wanted to trust in his well judgment, let him know she cared that much. She still had the conversation, sometimes scrolling up for her favorite messages, wishing she could turn back time because she _knew _that, had things been different– then– then–

With a sigh, she refrained from writing another message. All of them were left unseen and his last time online couldn't be seen, he was either really keeping things to himself or… Downright avoiding her and anyone for that matter. Either way, Neith could be sure of two things: first was that she had work to do, and the second was that for doing such work she needed to calm down.

Neith's apartment reflected the image she wanted to show to the public, especially those at work: a woman that was organized in every aspect of her life, with clean floors, cozy furniture to lean on and all tidy. But one could notice the lack of family photos, of the personal touches that would made one's own home. Neith liked to think she didn't need any of those things, when in reality, she didn't have them because it was _not _her home.

But what she lacked in one department, she had it on the other. Or in a room, to be exact.

Neith wasn't the one to bring other people into her apartment (in fact, if her memory didn't fail her, the last person that came through that door besides her was the plumber almost three months ago), yet if that was the case, she had hidden her _special kit _behind one of the drawers in her personal room. It took a bit of effort, but she needed to calm down that night and it didn't matter anyway– it was nothing compared to the feeling of uncertainty.

When Neith had it on her hands, she sat atop of her bed, already having a clean piece of toilet paper and some skin care cream for later. With a little tremble, she opened the box, staring at the many choices she had tonight. This morning she had already used the cutter and the result was… less than satisfactory. Something else would do the job. Now all she had to do was choosing a place, and her shoulders seemed clean enough.

And she winced, she bit her lip when it ran through the skin and she repressed a hiss as well as any sound. _'A hero should be able to endure any kind of pain, Number Eight' _were the thoughts inside of her head, but the voice wasn't her own and the room wasn't the one in her apartment; and so, she closed her eyes as she pressed the razor even harder, for Neith didn't want to think of anything nor anyone at all.

And as she did any time she used her special kit, what she thought would be two or maybe four ended up being almost _eight _on each shoulder. She could feel the drops making their way down her skin, the wounds burning each passing second going for numbness to sharp pain, yet no sound came from her. Neith trembled, yes, but at the very least she didn't think of the messages left unseen and the pleas for him at the back of her mind.

As soon as she left the razor inside the box once again, it all came down to cleaning the wounds. Blood was dripping onto her arms, onto her breasts and the skin hurt whenever she moved even slightly, but she was able to clean up the stains as well as to apply the cream. Usually, Neith let the scars remain, she knew how to cover them up with the right clothes, but it was better to be prepared than to be surprised, or so they said.

Neith stored the box where it had been hidden just half an hour ago, her mind not calm (it never calmed entirely, and the weight on her shoulders would hit on her any second) but just stable enough to get onto work, and sensing the discomfort on her shoulders starting to take in she changed into a strap t-shirt to let the cream take its toll on her. She reached for her briefcase afterwards, making her way onto her desk to fill in the papers.

This was the life of Neith Hargreeves ever since she graduated from psychology in the university: keeping her cool in a work environment where she could help (_actually help) _other people, only to retort back to some tool in order to forget about the pain of her own life. She felt like an hypocrite, of course she did, knowing that many times she had _pleaded_ to her patients to _not_ take onto these behaviors, only to be indulging in them herself.

'_Father would be so disappointed.'_

And perhaps he would have been, hadn't she walked out of the house and out of his life almost thirteen years ago.

It hadn't been an easy decision, in fact, for a long time she had wanted to _stay _in that house, thinking that as the time went by and she grew older things could get better. She had seen movies, where after many, many hardships, the parents would understand their children and finally gave them the liberty and trust they deserved– but as strange as her childhood had been, life was never the way it was in movies. Sometimes, no matter what happened, people just wouldn't change.

Not even if that was all she ever asked from them.

And so, Neith left her house at age eighteen, keen on making a career and a life for herself, away from her father, her family and all the disappointment and hardship the past carried. It had never been easy, but for the most part, she did, and when she couldn't… Well, the special kit was special for a reason.

But it wasn't as if Neith never thought of them– the first years without them were hard and the scars all over her body said that much. She had been _this _close to coming back, to try once more, but that would meant putting herself on the front line again, that would meant being disappointed and disappointment meant being hurt all over again, a kind of hurt that wouldn't heal as much as she tried. So, slowly but surely, the Hargreeves became but a passing thought at the back of her head– until, one day, they didn't.

And ever since that day, Neith waited for him. Sometimes, Neith thought she would always wait for him.

But she couldn't think of him, not after ending up with sixteen new cuts on her body just to forget about him, not when she needed to focus on her job unless she wanted a _real _reason to sulk about. So, she gripped the pen on her hand as hard as she could and put on the radio on her phone, searching for her favorite station that would always put on her favorite music. That day, their choice had been some Smith's song.

Personally, Neith would cherish those small moments were she would just disconnect from everyone and everything else and just submerge into the calm of doing her work alongside a good song. Ever since she was a little girl, she would find everything was much easier with music– it was, perhaps, the only thing she shared with her family.

For that moment, Neith could let herself a moment to ask if they still did. Perhaps she could even do so in a message–

'_No!'_

Neith hissed when she saw a crack on the radio and, as soon as she moved her fingertips, the crack reversed, unifying the plastic on the radio until it was completely gone. She rarely had these _accidents_, but the times they happened it had been because her emotions would go berserk, not as much as when she had just started using them, but still.

She pinched her nose, dropping the pen for a second. Perhaps work wasn't enough, perhaps… Perhaps just a quick glance at the phone wouldn't hurt, wouldn't it?

With a sigh, Neith raised up from her seat, still having the radio tuned in an attempt to further relax her when she saw her suspicions coming alive, but it was futile, as soon as she saw the screen her body went rigid as stone.

'_What the–?'_

The day she left the house, her father had made no attempt to make Neith come back: no ominous warning of his, no harsh words, not even a threat. Then, no e-mails, no calls, her father didn't said anything and so didn't she. Neither did her mom, though she knew from their butler than she had foreseen her university education.

In thirteen years she hadn't received word of the Hargreeves household, so why they called now? Well, a little call couldn't possibly make things worse, couldn't it?

"Hello?"

"Good evening, miss," and Neith could swear her heart was going to beat out of her chest– and that one of the chairs had just been tore in half, for after more than ten years she could still recognize the voice of Phinneus Pogo. "Am I talking to Neith Hargreeves?"

"Yes, it's me, mister Pogo," she faked a smile out of custom, she always used to do so ever since she was a kid. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Is everyone okay? How is mom, you?"

"Me and your mother are doing just fine, Miss Neith," for a moment, Neith thought about asking for her mom on the phone, but she found out she didn't have the energy nor the strength to listen to her voice at the moment. "I hope you're doing good as well."

And Neith could only feel her wounds burning fresh as if they had just been made.

"It's all good, a little busy with work." it wasn't a lie, or so she wanted to think.

"Then, in that case, I will be straight Miss Neith. You might want to sit down, please."

Neith stayed up, yet she steadied a hand onto the table, the tension taking its toll on her and some of the furniture as well. She hadn't been this upset since she was a teenager and–

"What happened, mister Pogo? Is–is something wrong?"

"I'm deeply sorry for bringing these news, Miss Neith, but I called you to inform you about your father's… Demise. I'm sorry, Miss Neith."

For a second, she could almost feel the time stopping and the world slowly stopping its spinning, only to rush its pace until nausea hit in. Yet, she couldn't move, she couldn't even see something other than empty space and hear nothing but those words on repeat.

'_Your father's demise your father's demise your father's demise–'_

"Miss Neith, miss Neith? Miss Neith, are you okay?"

Shaking, she gripped tightly the phone on her hand. Her mouth opened but no sound came, and so was for a moment that Neith could feel like the air would slip out of her lungs at any second.

"Is–Is this for _real?"_ her lips pursed, and as if a power surge had been connected once more, a million different thought hit her head like a punch in the face: this has _her father _they were talking about, the man who wouldn't even call her by _her name _but with a number. For all that she knew, this could be but a ploy of his to bring her back. "I'm sorry, mister Pogo, but if this isn't true then–"

"I assure you, miss Neith, I would never lie about a subject like this," suddenly shame took over Neith, but she wasn't the same teenager she was when she left the house. She knows (knew) her father. "We found him dead on his bed this morning. He's at the morgue currently as we speak."

And Neith could have sworn to feel a slap on her face with those words. He has been _hours _dead, her father was actually death and… And…

She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea hit in. "Did he… Died naturally?"

"Your father, as well as the whole family, had many enemies, but it wasn't a murder if that's what you're worried about. Any possible culprits were put to jail by you and your siblings."

'_But they've could have gotten out, God, what if he was poisoned? What if he was sick and nobody told me because I __**left**__?'_

"I called you in because we will hold a funeral, the whole family to be exact," it took all of her force in the world not to scream at that moment. The last time all of their siblings had been on the same room had been, yet again, in a funeral. "And I hoped that even if you had… Issues with him, that you might want to say goodbye."

And Neith could only speak a few words.

"Hold on, Pogo, I need a moment."

She didn't even wait for a reply, she put the call on silence before staring into the empty darkness of her apartment, as she suddenly realized how… big and empty it all was and how small she seemed in all of it. And yet, Neith could only feel herself numb.

A few times, but especially on her childhood, Neith had fantasized about her father's death. Not as in _killing him _or anything, no– but to wake up one day and just have him gone. Whenever she did so, she only imagined all of her problems being magically solved, scenarios that belonged more on movies than in the actual, living reality: issues with some inheritance, family and romance drama, and perhaps even discovering some secret of his. And now here she was, thirty years old and now he was completely gone.

Forever.

She didn't shed a tear, even if the pressure slowly build up inside of her chest like a bomb about to go off. It was just too much, too sudden and… Almost unbelievable, all things considered.

Neith took the phone once more when she realized Pogo could end up the call any minute, thinking that she might want nothing to do with the whole affair. And with all her strength and willpower, she answered.

"I will call my job and ask for a vacation, they owe for two years, so in… Two days I can make it for the funeral. Would you be so kind to find me a hotel room?"

"You could stay here in the mansion for the time being, miss Neith, but nevertheless I will," she silently thanked him for not forcing her to stay. Neith knew herself, and staying overnight at the house would not be a wise idea. "I'll let you know I called your siblings as well, they will come to the funeral."

"I'm… glad to hear that." it wasn't a lie, even if their father wasn't the best, he… He just died, and even with all the things he did he still deserved some respect. The best way to bid him farewell was having all of them there.

'_If that helps you sleep at night, sure, keep telling yourself that.'_

"I'm sorry to have called in such circumstances, miss Neith, but I hope you understand these are times where family has to stick together."

"Of course." _'But why now and not when we had the chance?'_ "Thank you, mister Pogo. I will call you tomorrow when I come from work. Good night."

As harsh as it was, she ended up the call as soon as those words left her mouth. Now, without Pogo's voice and all alone on her apartment she was prey to her own mind, not knowing what to do to call down.

Well, she did knew. She just hadn't imagined she would now have another reason to do it. But if that made Neith unable to think…

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. It was most likely something from her job, but if that meant to get rid of one problem at least, then so be it.

Only, when Neith read whose message was, her heart nearly stopped and something akin to bliss rose up from her chest.

It was only one message, just one, and while short and not even referring to the– what? _Fifty three texts and twenty voice messages unheard? _Neith was almost glad it wasn't the case.

It was just three words. Surprisingly solemn, given it was from him.

'**Dad is gone**'

She didn't even thought of anything before replying back.

* * *

**a/n: **while this was... surprisingly easy for me to write, mostly because it was a way for me to vent in a much healthier way that i've been doing so, i won't be surprised if it wasn't an easy reading for anyone- yet i'd like to thank whoever gave it a chance and made it all down to here!

i'm sorry if anybody wanted to see or read more than just a few references about the canon in here, but i wanted to introduce neith as her own, even if you can clearly see the seeds for some future conflict- can you guess what? ;)

anyway, any thoughts you guys might had please let me know!


End file.
